


Just Like Home

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: There are times that Clark asks certain things of Bruce and Bruce would never dream of denying him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For my writing challenge #3 Sounding  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "Remnants" by Disturbed

" _Just do it_." 

The words came out in a rush, filled to the brim with desire that was so close to overwhelming that it made the hair on Bruce's arms stand on end. 

Stepping past the edge of the bed, Bruce settled carefully on the small stool in front of the armchair Clark was currently occupying. He took a moment to unsnap the small silver case that sat on the edge of the bed, spreading the cloth from within out on the comforter and then carefully selected one slim metal sounding rod, opening the sterile bag it had been placed in the last time he and Clark had used it. Settling it onto the cloth - still in the plastic - he carefully unwrapped two black gloves, pulling each one on in the most clinical of manners. 

A glance at Clark allowed him to see how he tracked his every move, how his breath hitched as Bruce picked up the surgical lubricant packet and carefully opened it. The rod came next, extracted from the safety of the sterile packaging, brought forth into the air of the room only to be coated in the thick shine of the lube. 

Bruce carefully held onto the rounded backend of the rod as he turned back toward Clark, pausing long enough to watch the way he was already nearly panting for his every breath, how the faintest dusting of red had appeared across the portion of his chest that his unbuttoned work shirt revealed. His pants had been unfastened, his belt ends lying loosely over his hips, the fly of his jeans undone and open to reveal a distinct lack of undergarments. 

Somewhere in Bruce's mind he knew what it meant - knew that Clark had taken the time to shower and dress for him before coming here, all of it meticulous and _hopeful_ given he hadn't even known if Bruce was going to be home. 

Shifting to the front of his stool, Bruce pressed his knees against the inside of Clark's legs, used him to steady himself even further than the stool would and then leaned forward, one gloved hand curling around the base of Clark's cock, the other guiding the sound to the tip, teasing against the slit until Clark's head fell back against the chair's cushion. The subtle shift in his muscles, the strain of his thighs, let Bruce know just how difficult it was for Clark to stay still through all of this, just how much he wanted to have that slim little rod sliding deep inside of him. 

Excitement delicately laced through his veins as he slid his hand up, pressed his thumb just under the head of Clark's length and began to insert the rod. 

At first he only teased, pushing a mere inch of it in, pulling it back out with the utmost care and concern for Clark's body. It wasn't that he felt like he would actually _harm_ anything, it was that such an act had always been - to him - a creation not to be taken lightly. It was a time for intimacy and gentleness, a time to ease a lover into what was happening, not a time for roughness and quick, jerking gestures. There would be time enough for that later, he was certain.

Pulling the sound out, he gently wiped some of the lube from it along the slit of Clark's cock, following the action with the slick slide of the sounding rod pushing back into Clark's body, this time deeper, further than he ever could have managed with himself so quickly. He knew _from experience_ just how far he could take a very similar set, how quickly his body would adjust to it, how it would morph from a sensation he could describe at best as being _odd_ into a pleasure so incredibly ascending that he'd wondered for a moment if it were even his own body he had come back down into. He knew all of these things for the very singular reason of wanting to ensure he could pleasure Clark as fully as was possible with his chosen method. 

Slowly twisting the rod, he brought it back out and slipped it back down, watching the gleaming metal disappear into Clark's shaft, watching how Clark's muscles strained to keep him rooted in place. The rod slid smoothly all the way down until the little ball at the tip was nestled tight against his slit. Only then did Bruce start to stroke him - careful languid movements of his hand as he watched Clark's face, watched how his eyelids fluttered closed, how his lips parted ever so slightly, unspoken words mouthed to the room as he rode whatever pleasant tide was carrying him away.

Bruce's fingers moved to press along the underside of Clark's cock, feeling the rod there, traveling up the length until he thumbed the ball up enough to grasp it with his free hand, sliding the sound out and shifting to lay it on the cloth on the bed. 

He extracted another, larger rod from the case, carefully opening the packaging on it as well, coating it in the same lubricant and then turning back to Clark, watching the way his hips flexed, muscles shifting in his jean-clad thighs as he worked himself against the air of the room. 

The instant his knees touched the insides of Clark's legs again, Clark went still, the way he was gripping the chair arms alone speaking of what he so desperately wanted to do.

Bruce's mind flitted over the first time they'd done this, over the memory of cracking wood and an antique chair's last moments as it yielded to the strength of Clark's pleasure. _This chair_ had been custom made, the materials able to withstand far more from Clark's desperately powerful orgasmic clutches and the covering soft enough that it didn't lack in use when Bruce found himself battling yet another fit of insomnia in the midst of his resting hours. 

He watched Clark's fingers grip tighter as he teased the larger sound over the slit, rubbing the lubricant around until he finally slipped the sound in, just fucking the tip of it in and out until Clark actually _whined_ for him. The sound shot electricity right down to his own cock, left him throbbing in his trousers, left him wishing he'd had the foresight to at least tease himself when he'd gone to the bathroom to clean up before they started. 

Pressing the rod into Clark's slit, he watched as it disappeared into him, the process achingly slow, so reminiscent of the few times he'd been between Clark's legs, been allowed entrance into his body in another way. He resisted the urge to rock his hips, to chase any amount of friction in an effort to find pleasure, and instead focused entirely on what he was doing to Clark. 

The sound slid in _oh so slowly_ and even when he'd gotten it snugly inside of Clark, he didn't stop. This time he pulled it back out, nearly to the point of exiting Clark's body, only to push it back inside of him again. Above him he heard Clark's short, panted breaths, heard the cut-off whines he wanted to make, heard the creak of the chair beneath his powerful hands as he did his best not to jerk his hips up in some effort to seek more pleasure. 

Clark gasped and he heard the sound of him getting his own gloves from the kit, the snap of them being pulled on and then a package being opened. Bruce slid the sound he was using out and placed it on the towel beside the other one, watching as Clark lubricated the only curved rod amongst the collection. Carefully, Bruce took hold of Clark's length, using his thumbs to spread the slit open for Clark, letting him start pressing the sounding rod into own cock. 

Clark only got it in a few inches before he had to let go of it, his hips arching and rocking against the air as he moaned. 

Bruce moved then, shifting to loom over Clark's body, one leg pressing down on Clark's thigh until he settled back on the chair, his elbow braced on his chest as he grasped his cock with one hand, the sound with the other and began to move it in and out of Clark as fast as he dared to do so. 

Clark's breath hitched and then he was grunting, moaning, all the smallest little cut-off sounds Bruce could have ever imagined leaving his lips and he _knew_ Clark had been working him up to this every single time they'd settled in for one of these sessions. _This_ was what he'd wanted all along; the one thing he'd so desperately needed to have from Bruce. 

Pulling it free, he wiped some extra lube across his tip and then pressed it back in, his hands confident, sure of their job as he fucked Clark's hole with the curved rod, watched it widen his slit almost unimaginably as it swallowed up the rod. Clark's hands clenched into fists and then he was shouting and his cum was spilling out around the rod with every movement. 

Bruce kept it moving through it until Clark was gasping for air, until he was starting to buck under him and then he pulled it free, twisted to place it on the towel and then both hands were on Clark's length, working him quick and hard between their bodies. Clark jerked and with something that sounded closer to a sob than anything else, he was cumming a second time, this one spurting warm splashes of cum up Bruce's forearm, across the front of his own slacks, even onto the floor under them. 

Easing back from him, Bruce carefully rolled up the towel and carried it to the bathroom. The small hotplate he'd plugged in had a pot of boiling water on top and he extracted the rods from the towel, deposited them in the boiling water and then turned it off so they wouldn't boil for too long. The gloves went into the trash and he came back out, finding Clark had packed away the rest of the set, the case sitting innocently on the stool once more. 

Their eyes locked and Clark didn't even have to ask the question Bruce was sure he'd been prepared to voice. Instead Bruce simply reached down to open his slacks, pulling himself free of the confines of the fabric and taking two steps back to press his shoulders against the wall. It was a clear invitation and Clark took it exactly how Bruce wanted him to, was on his knees in front of him before Bruce could so much as blink, had him in his mouth before his next breath could be drawn.

Bruce's hips arched, his hand coming to fist in Clark's hair, knowing he didn't have to hold back here, didn't have to be delicate or _kind_ about how he held on or how his hips wanted to surge forward. 

He spent so much of his life holding back, keeping himself from stepping over real or created lines, pulling his punches and holding his tongue. It was a genuine relief to have one place where he didn't require _any_ control. There was no holding back, no stopping himself from surging right up towards his orgasm. Every ounce of desperation he held broke free as he surged up into Clark's mouth again and again, his hand twisting in Clark's hair in a way that would have ripped someone else's completely from their scalp. 

He could feel the head of his cock bumping the back of Clark's throat, felt him working around him, and then he was leaping over the edge, falling head-first into the sweet delirium of their entwined bliss. He bucked, cumming right down Clark's throat, getting off on that just about as much as he was that he was face-fucking _Superman_. 

Bruce never kidded himself, he knew that some degree of their rendezvous always had to do with their _real_ jobs. He understood it down to his bones that they both held a degree of their pleasure in the fact that they were holding the upper hand at times with the other's reality. Their personas - the face of a playboy billionaire and a reporter - fell away when they were together and Bruce never once deluded himself into believing anything else. Every single ounce of him knew this was the truest relationship he'd ever had, knew that he was baring a piece of himself to Clark every time and that Clark was doing the same for him. 

Shuddering, he relaxed his hold and Clark pulled off of him, wiping his hand over his mouth and then he was _there_ , their mouths colliding in the sloppy heaven of a kiss that Bruce knew he'd still be feeling by the time patrol rolled around. And, just like always, Bruce knew that _this_ was his home.


End file.
